


strip it down

by ladywithalamp



Series: ramblin' man [3]
Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Branch Connally Doesn't Die, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I just honestly love her and Branch and they need more fic with their relationship in it, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Vic being a bro too I suppose, he just looks a little bit like Jonah Hex, just a little bit really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywithalamp/pseuds/ladywithalamp
Summary: Branch breaks out his old bronc riding habits for a case and, unfortunately for him, it doesn't go according to plan and Vic gets a look through the cracks at what may, potentially, be a new perspective into Branch's personal relationships.
Relationships: Branch Connally/Walt Longmire, Victoria "Vic" Moretti & Branch Connally
Series: ramblin' man [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052243
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	strip it down

**Author's Note:**

> So I know this is late as all hell and DEFINITELY out of order but I finally had a chance to end this little ficlet so I took the chance. I'm still planning on Cady & Jacob making an appearance but idk quite when. At any rate, I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the read!

Vic had never thought she'd seen a man do something so stupid and, yet, Branch still seemed to surprise her. Watching him on the back of some half-wild horse, doing it's damndest to buck him and the rope he hung onto off her back, she figured he'd taken the cake. 

"You people do this kind of shit for _fun?"_ She twisted to look at Walt and Ferg, the two men leaned up against the fence alongside her, watching their fellow officer breaking the horse that was perhaps their only lead in their most recent case. That horse had been half-trained and wild when she was sold to a young upstart in Absaroka County, half-wild when she'd dragged her new owner across half the county, hindquarters chewed up from barbed wire and God knew what else. 

It had been a minute since the incident, maybe a week or two, and they'd finally been allowed by the veterinarian to take her out and ease her into the process if only to figure out what part she'd played in the killing. 

Thus far, they hadn't gotten very far. 

Yelling off to her left and a flash of Walt half vaulting his body up onto the fence line shot the blonde back into the present and she turned just in time to watch as the mare pitched herself to the side, Branch still clinging to the rope fastened behind her forelegs as she went down. 

Vic was up and over the fence in a second, thoughts of watching her friend crushed to death beneath the bulk of a few thousand-pound _animal_ flashing in her mind's eye. He'd already been shot twice, survived both, and **this** is what would finally kill him? 

She would never forgive herself. Knew Walt wouldn't, either, and wasn't that funny, knowing that, now of all times? 

Ferg was just behind them, coming around the side to cut the horse off in case she bolted, a lasso in his hand. It must have been the one hanging on the fence post. Vic hadn't even known to grab it, wouldn't have known what to do with it even if she had. Even being out here for all the time she had, she didn't have the faintest idea about what to do with a horse, let alone an angry or scared one. She focused on Branch, instead, heart in her throat as she came closer. 

He wasn't moving. Arms, legs, chest. _Nothing._

For a brief moment, she thought he'd been crushed, but nothing seemed broken and as Walt stooped down beside him, gloves ripped from his hands to check his breathing, Vic only let herself sag back onto her heels when Branch shifted away from that hand, face scrunched up in displeasure. 

"What the hell are you checking if I'm breathing for," he mumbled, coughing up the dust he'd swallowed as he gingerly sat up, the other hand clutching the side of his head.

It never would be easy looking at this side of his face, Vic mused, knowing what he'd looked like before. 

It hadn't changed much, really, save the shape of his mouth, the corner of it gnarled and twisted where it had been pieced back together, and the form of his jaw. The way the doctor slanted it, Branch was lucky it had only been the side of his face and not the back of his head caught by the shotgun blast. 

The steadying hand at Branch's shoulder was nothing but that, a steadying hand. The look on Walt's face was anything but. There was a flash of something in his eyes like he'd been sick to his stomach watching Branch lie there, unmoving. Like it had been a few millennia instead of a few seconds. 

Vic watched as the palm of Walt's hand curled around the back of Branch's neck, as Walt's face cracked into a grin and Branch smiled back, a more careful smile than his old one but no less genuine nor handsome. 

"Worried about me, Sheriff Longmire? I rolled off before she could get me, Walt. Might have tweaked my wrist a bit on the way down but 'm not out yet." 

"Damn right I was, Branch." He stood and offered a hand out to the other man, which Branch took without comment. "We're done today, I think. Let's get you cleaned up. Start again another day." 

"Sure, but don't think you're getting on the back of that horse, Walt. I still bounce back a little quicker than you do." 

The sheriff's only answer was a grunt before he turned on his heel and began walking back to the entrance of the corral. 

"Ferg! Let her run herself out. We'll bring her in when she's good and tired." 

Vic shook her head, watching as Branch tried to hide his limp, and Ferg scurried after them both, the blonde taking up the rear.

***

It was always hard watching Branch limp around, folded in on himself like he was half a man, like the things he'd survived and seen hadn't forged him in fire. It was always hard, but it was necessary on days like today, particularly when he’d just landed hard enough to crack bones and dislocate shoulders.

Vic had seen it all and what remained was a scar like a smile, curving above the ridge between right-side hip bone and belly, and another like a canyon, pitted between his ribs and angling down toward his groin. Scars and, now, bruises radiating from beneath the waistband of his Wranglers up his side, red and angry looking, a black-blood red situated at the point of impact. It looked painful and then it was gone, covered over by a crisp, white undershirt. 

"Hey old man you brought those spare clothes of y--" 

Branch turned at the waist, lopsided smile in place, eyes bright and tone teasing, and then it all fell away when he noticed Vic standing in the doorway. He glances down and laughs before sighing. "Sorry Vic, thought you were Walt. He's s'posed to be bringing me a clean shirt from the truck." 

"One of yours?" 

A pause, blue eyes roving over her face, before he gingerly shrugs a shoulder. "Sure. Or his. Don't really keep track. We're about the same size and the spares all get mixed together." 

The words were sincere but Vic wasn't buying it and the look on her face must have said it because something about Branch's eyes dimmed. 

"Am I interrupting somethin'?" Turning toward Walt's voice, Vic screwed her face up into a smile and shook her head. Beside her, Branch said nothing. She could hear him shifting around, restless, no doubt beginning to feel those bruises that littered his torso. 

"Nah, Vic just came to check on me. I was just waiting for that shirt." He stepped forward and took said shirt, neatly folded over a forearm, from the sheriff's hands before he stubbornly attempted to shrug the shirt over his shoulders. His movements were stiff, no doubt sore from the fall and the jarring from the horse ride, but his shoulder didn't look like it could roll back all the way, possibly indicating a partial dislocation.

He probably wouldn't have said anything if it was, though. 

Vic said nothing when Walt stepped forward and eased Branch's arm down and tugged the shirt on and up to hang from his frame. It was a bit too big around the shoulders: clearly, it wasn't Branch's. The deputy's voice was quiet when he muttered his thanks, not quite meeting Vic or Walt's gaze. His good arm came up to take his hat back, placing it gingerly on his head before stepping around them.

Vic’s eyes followed after Branch as he limped away, his bad arm held close to his body, not saying a word. Something had clicked in her brain, a second, maybe two, after she’d seen the light dim in her fellow deputy’s eyes when he’d realized she wasn’t who he had wanted to see. Vic said nothing then, too, and she was standing alone in the barn Branch had been using as a changing room. It made sense now, even if she couldn’t quite wrap her head around any of it, around the pain that ran, hot and heavy in her chest. Maybe she should have known. Or maybe not. 

Who could say, after all this time? 

The barn door clicked closed behind her and her boots crunched against the gravel as she walked back to her truck. She didn’t say a word, though she could feel Branch’s eyes watching as she clambered into the cab. 

Maybe she should have known but she was going to keep her mouth shut, for now.


End file.
